


A Dish Best Served Cold

by asparagusmama



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Flashback, Gen, Homophobia, Jean Innocent being awesome, Misogyny, kidnapfic, relieved surprise ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-27
Updated: 2012-04-27
Packaged: 2017-11-04 10:30:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/392855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asparagusmama/pseuds/asparagusmama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An ex-convict is released from prison after nearly 20 years - he had threatened to get revenge by hurting Valerie Lewis and whomever Morse was seeing at that time - cheated by death, he kidnaps Hathaway...</p>
<p>This is tagged gen but feel free to read it as pre-slash if you want it to be! Or not. Up to the reader.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The beginning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mariemcm](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=mariemcm), [babyklingon](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=babyklingon).



> This is based on a one-off bedtime story I made up for my daughter. I wasn’t going to write it down, as one offs get forgotten and unless my daughter remembers and requests. However, as when one has battled to stay awake for so many hours, I couldn’t sleep so chatted to a few friends on Livejournal and someone said after I told them, “Oh, but you must write the kidnap fic!” – so Mariemcm, this is for you :)  
> Thanks to deadchipmunk for the beta.

Early one rainy April morning the doors to one of HM Prisons opened and a man emerged. He had been in various prisons since his conviction in 1993, a year before if you counted his time on remand, that bastard Morse had made sure he hadn’t been bailed since he’d charged him. Him and that smug Geordie bastard! He’d told them at the time they would pay... A lifetime to some, the time he had served. In that time the world had passed him by and he found himself a time traveller, in his journey home to Oxfordshire he found he was living in a sci fi movie – buses that lowered with a hiss when they stopped to allow on futurist prams, mobile phones, ipods, ipads, laptops, a brightly coloured train station hung with flat screens showing train info, advertising and BBC news, and girls, so many girls in short, short tight, tight skirts and high, high heels, all legs and confidence and futurist technology, he couldn’t keep his eyes from them...

*

Two weeks later it was a sunny Sunday and cheerfully Lewis went to visit his Val, carrying a bunch of white lilies studded with red roses. He was cheerful because he always enjoyed his sergeant’s company and he was picking him up at the lad’s church and they were off for a squash game and then a Sunday lunch at a pub. Cheerful too because his Lyn had e-mailed the first scan pictures of his grandchild – grandson they reckoned, but how they could tell on that splotchy image of head and blurry body, he didn’t know. But seeing the bump of the head and an eye was enough for him. Enough to send him here to tell her. He knew it was daft, if her spirit was anywhere she was probably watching over their Lyn anyhow. James would say she was in heaven, separated and not able to hear anyway. But...

The flowers slid from his hand, landing on the ground in a crumbled heap as he put his hand to his mouth.

“Shit!”

Someone had been at her headstone with what looked like a hammer, a mallet, something...

*

Hathaway came out of mass carrying his sports bag expecting to see his boss’ car outside, but instead he wasn’t there. He switched on his mobile to see a text. He instantly began the long walk from St Edmund of Abingdon and St Frideswide’s on his road to the graveyard of the C of E church of St Michael and All Angels’ in Summertown...

*

Lewis’ hair was standing on end as if he’d been running his hands through it and he was shouting at a beat officer, and a couple of young CPSOs. The vicar was hovering in the back ground, looking like he wanted to dive in to negotiate the peace. Communicants and worshippers were filing out of the front door and gazing with road crash fascination.

“Sir?”

“James? You got me text. These bloody stupid idiots won’t secure the scene – we need forensics...”

“It’s vandalism,” Hathaway said flatly. “Sir,” he added gently after a pause.

“Your point being sergeant?”

“It’s mindless, petty vandalism Sir. It’s not murder, assault, rape or a major theft. There really is nothing to secure.”

“We don’t have the manpower, time or resources sergeant, I was explaining that to the inspector,” the uniformed officer said to Hathaway, grateful for support. These two were known for their maverick ways and their close relationship, so Sergeant Hathaway’s support came as a bit of a relief.

“I’ll get you home sir, come on,” James took hold of Lewis’ elbow and guided him toward the gate of the cemetery.

*

Four days later Lewis had calmed down enough to accept it as one of those things, a mindless act by a bunch of mindless idiots. Hathaway just agreed with him, but would have put it down to dispossessed youth with poor education, low aspirations and little hope of a decent future, probably off their faces on drugs or drink, but he kept quiet. Lewis was normally an understanding, non-judgemental man, but he was hurt, and needed some understanding himself. So it was with regret he turned down the offer of a pint and a takeaway curry – he seemed to have been keeping his boss company for every evening that week, even crashing out of the sofa the first two nights, his boss so upset he had been afraid he might go back to the brandy and the state he had apparently been in when Val died – several officers had filled him in on the state of his boss prior to his two year exchange to the British Virgin Isles.

“Oh, I’m sorry sir. Not tonight. I can’t. I have band practice.”

“Oh? Not to worry then James. See you in the morning.”

 

 

 

*

They had gone to the pub afterwards and it was late by the time James got home. Unable to get a taxi, he had walked the three miles carrying his guitar. He was exceedingly hungry when he got home, the combination of no dinner, the beer and the long walk, and didn’t really pay attention to anything when he got in. He placed his guitar on the sofa, then his jacket on top and, kicking off his shoes, headed straight for the kitchen and put some bread in the toaster. He put on the kettle and spread his toast with marmite, putting in more bread as he made the coffee. He made short work of his second two slices of marmite on toast and remembered the cupcakes he’d brought from M&S so bent down to the cupboard to fetch them. He heard nothing, the first he knew was his head being yanked back by his hair and something soft pushed over his nose and mouth. Panicked, he struggled to take a deep breath, and in doing so got a lungful of chloroform and slipped into blackness...

*

The man caught Hathaway and gently lowered him to the ground. He then checked the window, discreetly pulling back the blind and looking up into the street - there were several groups of merry young people wending their way home. He quickly pulled back from the window and went back into Hathaway’s bedroom where he had hidden, waiting for Hathaway to return. He grabbed Hathaway’s work jacket and rifled through the pockets until he found handcuffs and keys and pocketed them himself.

Another half an hour later he checked the window again, and then the door to the stairs and corridor that led to the front door of this old Georgian house converted to flats. There was no one. He went back to the kitchen and hoisted the unconscious young policeman over his shoulder and quickly went out to the street and a waiting blue Ford Transit van. He propped Hathaway up while he opened the door and then slung him inside. 

The man climbed into the back of the van and then pulled the prone Hathaway more into the back of the van onto a mattress, and snapping one cuff onto his wrist, the man fastened the other to the back of the driver’s seat. He climbed out and closed the door and got into the front and drove quietly and carefully away, not to draw attention to himself.

*

The blue van headed into the city centre, over the Plain and Magdalen Bridge and, ignoring traffic regulations, went up the High past Examination Schools, the church of Mary the Virgin and the Radcliffe Camera and turned left into St Aldates, passing Christchurch and Pembroke before crossing the Thames at Folly Bridge and then went west up the Abingdon Road and onto the A34 heading west, until he turned off at the A415 junction and headed out into the dark countryside, turning just before the A420 into a narrow country lane and then further, into what was barely a lane, more a unmentioned track...

*

Hathaway awoke at some point as the van bumped along the track, jostled and bruised and alarmed. It was dark and he could see nothing at all, but he could hear the drone of the engine and feel the bumps as the van went over the rutted muddy ground. He tried to move to get a view of something, some light, some clue to where he was, what was happening. As he moved he felt a painful tug on his wrist as metal bit into the skin and he realised his left wrist was handcuffed, his arm raised slightly. He knew he was in a vehicle, some sort of van or small lorry, he could guess at, as he was lying down, stretched out to his full length, and they were moving. It was obviously still night, as there was no light at all. He bit his lip and tried not to panic. He closed his eyes, hating the staring at nothing, to help him listen better.

He could hear the breathing of the driver, but not another person. So there were only two of them – that would give him a fair chance when they stopped, once the handcuff was released. Unless he had a gun?

More importantly, Hathaway turned his mind to why? Why was he kidnapped? Was it random? Connected to his work? Perhaps this man had a vendetta against the police and he, for whatever reason, made an easy target? Revenge? Had he arrested someone so unstable that he would take revenge? He didn’t think so. He was left with two most likely explanations – one, he had a stalker who was obsessed and had taken him to... Hathaway didn’t want to think about that! Two, this was revenge, but aimed at his boss. He was sure Lewis must have arrested plenty of dangerous, unstable criminals over the years. And only Mrs Lewis’ gravestone had been damaged, after all. Perhaps the vandalism wasn’t so mindless after all...

*

The man was unaware of Hathaway being now awake as he drove down the small rough lane, past a hamlet, a few lights already on, and past a farm house, the lights all on, and then, a few miles after he turned off on to a dirt track, not even an unmaintained single track lane and bumped the van slowly up the grassy, muddy, rutted track for two miles to a ruin of a farmyard – house and outbuildings half standing and blackened with fire – and then past them, over a field towards a wood, stopping at a dilapidated, old touring caravan

*

It was starting to get light when the van bounced to a stop and the doors were opened. Hathaway blinked at the square of light and the man who blocked the light, a stocky, muscular man, short and squat with greying, thinning hair and a spider’s web tattoo on his neck, dressed in red and black rugby shirt and denim jacket.

“Who are you?" Hathaway demanded. “Why have you kidnapped me? What are you going to do?”

“So, you’re awake then, are you?”

“I would have thought that obvious,” Hathaway sneered, which earned him a burning slap across his face.

The man knelt over him, leering down at him. “And as for why, pretty boy – you’re bait!” He then shoved another handkerchief full of chloroform in Hathaway’s face and he knew no more for quite a while.


	2. Day 1

By half past nine Lewis was getting worried. He grew more alarmed when Innocent came into his office.

“Have you heard from Hathaway?” she demanded without preamble. “It’s unlike him, but perhaps he let you know he was sick and hasn’t gone through proper channels, leaving that for you.”

“I’ve heard nothing ma’am. I assumed you’d come to tell me he had rung in sick. Although it’s not like him. He never takes a day’s sick. You practically have to drag him home if he’d taken badly.”

“I’ve been thinking the same thing, Robbie. I’ve checked hospitals, just in case he’s been in accident, although his car has a CID marker, so I’d have been informed.”

“Not in hospital for any other reason?”

“None. And I concur, he always forces himself in, and if he has to take time out it is always prearranged or he’ll ring in sick. Hathaway is too organized to just disappear. I’m worried.”

“Aye, me too ma’am.”

“Well, off you go then Inspector.”

“What?”

“I think you should go around to his place, just to check he’s not unconscious with meningitis or something, or laid stricken with norovirus. I could send uniform round, but I don’t want to alarm him.”

Lewis had already stood up and grabbed his jacket and coat. “Aye ma’am. On my way.”

*

Lewis had a key, Hathaway had given him one when he’d been shot at Crevecoeur Hall and somehow Lewis had never given it back. Everything looked normal, he supposed. It was unlike James to leave his trainers in the middle of the floor, or his coat just dumped on the sofa, along with his guitar in its case. Obviously he had been to band practice.

“James?” Lewis called out, walking through the lounge to the rest of the flat, in to the bedroom. The bed hadn’t been slept in, and there was more signs of un-James like behaviour – his suit jacket and trousers were on the floor, and around them belongings, as if someone had been rifling through them. Perhaps James had been looking for something, aspirin or something? Lewis thought, clutching at straws, although in his heart he felt cold. He went to the bathroom, just to check, Innocent having put the norovirus or some such in his head. Nothing. Or rather, no one. Towels on the floor, signs that James had had a shower before he’d left yesterday, as everything was dry. Had he been called away, family emergency? He never spoke of family, but he must have one. Maybe he would slope off in secret? Lewis went back out of the bathroom, calling James’ mobile. He heard it ring in the living room.

Back in the living room he found James’ phone in his coat, along with wallet, change and house keys. The car keys he found on a key rack in the kitchen. There he noticed the toast crumbs, dirty plate and knife, still stuck in the open jar of marmite, the pot of coffee, unpoured and undrunk and the packet of cakes on the floor. He pulled his phone from his pocket a second time, this time to talk to Innocent to get her permission to get forensics here. This didn’t look good.

*

Hathaway awoke again feeling nauseous, dizzy and thirsty. It was daylight and he was on a double bed of a room no bigger than a tiny cabin – in a caravan perhaps? His left wrist was cuffed again, to the leg of the bed, and his left ankle was over tied to another, end, bed leg. He felt disorientated, uncomfortable, and if he was honest with himself, scared to death. He tried to concentrate on his breathing, to stop the shallow, panicky breaths and breathe normally. He counted his breaths for a while and then listened. He could hear birds, wind in trees, he could see a wood from the window, rough scrubland with long grass before it, and nothing else. No buildings, no road, not even a mobile phone mast or electricity pylons. He must be deep in the Oxfordshire countryside – that was, supposing he was still in Oxfordshire.

He could also hear men’s voices, talking in a low murmur; he could identify three separate voices, a local accent, a northern one and a London one. A radio was also on in the background. Steeling his courage he called,

“Hello! Hi! Anyone there?”

He seemed to be ignored.

“Oi!” he rattled at the handcuff against the bed.

He heard footsteps and then there were two men at the door, the one who had slapped him, and another, with sticking up black hair and a beard, taller than the first.

“Awake are we?” his capture asked,  
.  
“Evidently.” This earned him another a slap.

“None of your cheek. You just be a good little boy and everything will be fine.” He gave Hathaway a backhander for good measure.

“He’s hardly little, is he?” asked the other, he was obviously the Londoner.

The man stroked Hathaway’s cheek where he had hit it. “Oh, size isn’t everything, is it little boy? He’s such a little boy inside, with his big Daddy complex. I’ve been watching, him, see?” He caressed Hathaway’s neck with a finger. “Don’t worry, I’m sure Sugar Daddy will be here soon to rescue his pretty toy boy.”

“He’s not my...” he was silenced with another hit, a punch this time. Hathaway’s head reeled with it; the world span and he saw stars. A sob escaped against his will. “Please,” he began.

“Oh man, he’s gorgeous,” said a northern voice. The third had entered the tiny bedroom. “You gonna let me have him?”

“That’s not the plan, is it? You lay a finger on him, I’ll kill you.” Hathaway was sighing with relief inwardly when his kidnapper added, “I’ll tell you when and not before. Let’s give that Geordie bastard time to find him first.”

“Please,” Hathaway began again, looking up in what he hoped was a beseeching look and not one of the contempt he felt for them or naked fear, which was really his main emotion.

“What?” the kidnapper asked.

“Might... might I have a glass of water? Please?”

The kidnapper nodded and the other two men left, followed by him and then, the Londoner returned with a bottle of mineral water. Hathaway struggled to sit up and open it, then the man opened it and Hathaway rolled onto his side and drank thirstily.

When he was left alone again the desperateness of his situation hit him: all three men had not bothered to hide their faces. They might need him to bait the trap, but whatever plans they might have for Inspector Lewis, they were disposing of him as soon as his usefulness ended. He began to shake.

*

A whole day had gone past since Lewis had entered James’ flat. It was gone eight at night. Lewis was pacing in front of Innocent’s desk in her office while she reviewed what the forensic exam of Hathaway’s flat hat turned up. There had been footprints that didn’t match any of Hathaway’s shoes, not his size, not Lewis’, one in the entrance way and another two in the flat, bathroom and bedroom. No fingerprints, only glove prints, whoever it was had worn leather gloves. And someone had been there, for sure. In the kitchen, a white cotton fibre had been found, impregnated with a drug, probably chloroform, but further tests would explain fully. Uniform had done door to door, but no one had seen anything, apart from an elderly lady in the top flat who reported seeing a blue transit van she had not seen before, but there were the three houses opposite converted into homeless hostels and a B&B used by the council for homeless families, so vans were always coming and going. But this one had been there since just gone eleven at night and was gone when she next looked out her window at just before six in the morning. There was no CCTV until Donnington Bridge on the Iffley Road, but a blue transit was picked up on CCTV travelling over the Magdalen Bridge and then up the High and out of Oxford at the Abingdon Road junction. It was picked up passing the Abingdon junction on the A34 and again on the A415 where it vanished from view, not on the next camera along at the A420 junction.

The van itself had been found miles in the other direction late that afternoon by Midsomer constabulary, dumped in a canal, torched. It had been reported stolen three days before from Banbury. Forensics had been hard, but fibres of a mattress had been sent to the labs – if Hathaway had been on it they had his DNA on file, so matching wouldn’t be a problem.

*

Hathaway sat up, the man sitting on the end of the bed, watching him, holding a revolver loosely, and toying with it. He did not point it at Hathaway, or make any threat, it was just there as he released Hathaway from his binds and allowed him to use a bucket to relief himself and then placed a carton of rice, and ones of meat curry and yellow daal and a plastic fork. The takeaway was stone cold. The man had left earlier that day with the Londoner, returning with the curry in a four by four. The other man had a motorbike, Hathaway couldn’t see what make or size, only the back end of it from his view out of the windows either side of the bed. 

All afternoon he had been left with the northerner, with his shaved head and knuckle tattoos and his not so veiled threats of rape that were sometimes accompanied by sneers and laughs and other times with gropes and feels that left Hathaway more afraid than ever. He wanted his other kidnappers back.

Hathaway hadn’t been given anything since the mineral water when he awoke at what he later realised, had been gone lunchtime, so he ate hungrily. After he felt less starving, he said distinctly, licking his fingers first,

“Inspector Lewis is just my boss, you know?”

“Sure, look at that flock of pigs. Been watching you, bitch. You spend all the time out of work together, you stare at him like a lovesick puppy and he stares at your tight, cute arse at every chance he gets. You sit too close together; you practically hold hands when you walk next to each other. Don’t tell me different, to let you go. It just ain’t gonna work, boy, hear me? I’ve been watching you. You’re his bitch, ain’t no doubt.”

“I think I’d have noticed if I’d had sex with my boss, so you are – maybe sadly – wrong. I might be in love with him, which is what you’ve seen. I won’t deny it. I’d die for him, and I’m going to aren’t I?” Hathaway stared at the gun.

“You’re bait boy. You’ll get out of this alive bitch if you do as you’re told and do nothing stupid. Okay?”

“Why? Why all this? What has Inspector Lewis ever done to you?” Although Hathaway was sure the answer was ‘caught you’, he thought if he could get this man to talk, he was obviously the ‘brains’ of the outfit, he might be able to appear to be on his side and maybe, maybe, just negotiate his release.

“Ever done to me? Apart from arrested me, you mean? It wasn’t him so much, is it? It’s that bastard Morse, taunting me, making me look a fool. But he just let him, joined in, days they played mind games with me head, doing me head in, before they nicked me. And for what, those bloody bitches going around in their short skirts were asking for it, weren’t they? They needed a lesson, all of those tarts. Teach them how to behave. I made a threat. Told Morse and his sergeant what I’ll do and they laughed at me. Had years to think on, plan how to make my threat true.”

“Chief Inspector Morse is dead.”

“Know that, don’t I? And he died with none of his tarts on the go. And Sergeant Lewis’ woman goes and dies too. So I can’t do nothing, can I - all my plans.”

“You could say time has done your work,” Hathaway said gently, thinking that this man was mad but neither person had an easy death so maybe if he told them that, he’d see that suffering had been inflicted for him, since he was mad.

“Time robbed me of my revenge, bitch! But I will carry out my threat. You’ll see. You’re lucky bitch, I got a taste of boys like you inside!” He leaned towards Hathaway, leering, before snapping the handcuff back on and gathering the empty takeaway cartons and water bottle and leaving him, taking the light with him, leaving Hathaway to mull over what he’d been threatened with.


	3. Day 2

Early the next morning Lewis went for a walk, he’d not slept all night. It was fairly obvious that this was some kind of attack on him rather than poor James – the smashed grave could hardly be a coincidence, although Innocent had said to keep an open mind, and they were going through all arrests they had made together to see if anyone had been recently released from prisons and reviewing all the cold cases they were currently reviewing, to see if any recent interview had made anyone feel threatened in hindsight. So many people in uniform and CID were working through the paperwork through the night, no one even asking for overtime.

Without really realising it he found himself at the gravestone where Morse’s ashes were interred. It, too, had been smashed. That was it. Poor James was caught in the crossfire. And if this person were released, Lewis grew cold at the thought, but there was one arrest twenty years back...

Threatened was an understatement. This man had come from a strange religious cultish background and his parents, along with the cult’s pastor, had blamed single mothers and mini skirts for all the evils of modern society. This lad – and he had been nought but a lad in his early twenties, had begun to kidnap girls and rape them. At first they were released, but then one died. The pathologist had thought it had been an accident, but it seemed to give him a taste for death, for three more girls were murdered.

He’d been caught through entrapment, a dangerous game Lewis himself had come up with after talking to his friend at Division, Sergeant Maitland, and Morse had approved. The young DC had been incredibly brave and she had nearly been raped before they traced her wire.

He’d sworn revenge, and threatened and threatened and reinforced it, yelling in court as sentence was passed – he was going to get his Val and whomever Morse was with as soon as he was out of prison. Lewis looked again at the smashed gravestone and pulled out his phone from his pocket.

Innocent wasn’t that happy about being woken up at five thirty in the morning, but she agreed to meet him at the station to discover if Colin Standish was still inside, and if not, when he was released and did his probation officer know where he was.

*  
*

Hathaway awoke to the weight of something pressing on him. He opened his eyes and cried out in panic; the northerner, the biker, was lying on top of him.

“Wakey wakey sleeping beauty.”

“Get off!” Hathaway cried out loudly. He’d heard the other guy threaten this one. He was silenced by the man’s tongue being pushed in his mouth.

“Eurgh! You need to clean your teeth!”

“Well I would! If I had a toothbrush. And wasn’t bloody tied up!” Hathaway retorted.

“What would I get if I got you stuff to wash up and shave, eh princess?”

“My gratitude?” offered Hathaway.

The man thrust against him and bit his neck. Hathaway whimpered in fear. “He said he’d kill you if...”

“So, offer me something else, then?”

“I think I’d rather have scuzzy teeth, thank you.”

“Oh, you’re no fun, are you?” The man got up off Hathaway and the bed. “What’s your name then, princess?”

“Not princess,” James said coldly.

“Said you were a pig? That true?”

“I’m as human as you.”

“You know what I mean, filth, copper. Are you?”

“I’m a Detective Sergeant in CID and do you really think you’ll get away with this?”

“You’re here to get Morse’s bagman. You’re his bitch, that’s what Col said. Shagging your boss then, pretty one? Must be twice your age.”

“Inspector Lewis is not my boyfriend. I do not have a boyfriend. I have never had a boyfriend.”

The man reached out and stroked under Hathaway’s eye, smudging already smudged mascara. “Straight boys aren’t so vain.”

“Been inside, have you? Like this Col? Morse put you there?”

“Yeah. The smug, posh bastard. He was so going to get him but he went and died. Cunning bastard.”

“Welcome to the twenty-first century. You’ll find male grooming is all the rage. We all take care of ourselves nowadays, we’re not Neanderthal thugs anymore.”

“You telling me you’re straight?”

“I’m telling you nothing. Except for the fact I am not my inspector’s boyfriend and that I will not exchange sexual favours for a toothbrush and a razor.”

“Well, you don’t have to. Col wants you taken care of, so up you get.” He released Hathaway and escorted him to the other end of the caravan and showed him a bowl of warm water, and mirror, flannel, razor, toothbrush, toothpaste and soap.

While he was washing up after shaving the Londoner arrived in the four by four. “Gotta pick up Col at six. Got this though. Have to take it back with me.” He waved a digital camera at the other man. “No film. You put it on a computer and print it yerself. Bloody marvellous!”

“Been inside a long time too?” Hathaway asked spitefully, wiping his face with a rough towel. He shouldn’t have done it, he should try to hold his tongue, he was punched in the stomach. He doubled over, moaning.

“Trying to get him to play,” the one told the other. “In’t rape is he agrees, is it?”

“Pretty bitch, true. But Col won’t let us. If he gets used to it how’s he gonna scream when we get Lewis here.”

“What?” Hathaway demanded, looking up from where he sat on the floor.

“Never you mind,” the Londoner said. “You behave and we won’t handcuff you and you can stay with us, but just remember, I got this,” he waved a flick knife, “and he’s got a gun.”

“What on earth makes you think I’d want to spend any more time with you than I have to?” Hathaway way snapped, not surprised to get hit again.

*

Lewis was pacing in Innocent’s office. DI Grainger sat one side of the Chief Super’s desk, Innocent the other. Both were watching Lewis, waiting for him to calm down.

“It is Standish! I know it is. He threatened.”

“So did this man, and he was released two weeks after Colin Standish,” Grainger said, tapping a file on Innocent’s desk.

“Not only that, but he actually threatened you and the late Chief Inspector, and you do know it Inspector.” Innocent waved a wad of papers at Lewis. “Sit down Robbie. I’ll send for some tea.” 

“A few batty letters for the first few years he was banged up, Ma’am. It was nothing.”

“Then we have two more suspects of another two kidnappers and murderers you and Morse put away released in the last month.”

“This is all bollocks! I’m sure it’s Standish. We need to at least get him in for questioning.”

“Lewis! Sit down! You are not leading this investigation, Grainger is. Your input is appreciated and noted but we will not get anywhere unless we follow procedure.”

“Procedure be damned! This is pussy footing around Ma’am. James is out there, and Standish has him. You weren’t there Ma’am; you didn’t see what he did to those women. He has James, he could be doing the same to him – he could be raping him, beating him, torturing him, while we fanny about with procedure and timetables and bloody lists!”

Innocent stood up. “You are relieved Inspector. Take time out. Go home. You are too close and you are interfering with the legitimate kidnapping investigation. We are still only surmising it is kidnap, there has been no ransom or other demand.” Innocent paused and looked at Lewis more gently. “Go home Robbie,” she said quietly. “You’re too close. Leave it to us.”

“We will find him, Robbie. You can be sure of that,” Grainger reassured him.

Lewis snarled, literally snarled, before turning tail and storming out, slamming the door so hard Innocent’s office shook.

“His instincts maybe right Ma’am,” Grainger said.

“Agreed. Have we been able to speak to his probation officer yet?”

“Yes Ma’am. Been attending interviews every day, living in a room in a hostel, signed on and been attending his work focused interviews at the Job Centre, been seeing this counsellor the probation officer arranged every week he’s been out. Seems quiet and as co-operative as a lamb.”

“H’m. Well, still, if we have the address, why not go around there now Pete.”

“Ma’am.”

*

Hathaway sat quietly on the floor where he’d sunk after the punch to his gut, drinking the coke and eating the cereal bar and apple he was given for breakfast, surreptitiously and silently shuffling closer to the door every time both men’s backs were turned. They put on the radio and took out a pack of cards and began to play, both lighting cigarettes. Hathaway inhaled the second hand smoke deeply. They noticed.

“You smoke then?”

Hathaway nodded.

“Want one?”

“Please.”

“What yer got to offer then bitch?” asked the northerner, who answered to Dave. The Londoner appeared to be called Tony.

“I don’t want one that badly,” Hathaway replied sullenly, although to be honest he did, he was quite close. He put down his empty coke can and continued his discreet shuffle to the door.

*

Grainger banged on the door to Standish’s room loudly, DS Simmons by his side. Standish opened the door a crack, nervously, the door on the chain.

“Yes,” he sounded nervous.

Grainger shoved his warrant card in the man’s face. “Police. Can we come in Colin?”

“Er. Yes. What’s the problem? I’m trying to rebuild my life. Has there been a problem in the hostel? I keep myself to myself. Was in bed by nine.”

He opened the door fully. He seemed nervous throughout, not so much of their questions, but of life in general. He talked a lot about not mixing with the others. About wanting to go straight, carrying on his counselling, getting a job. He was confused by the suggestion he had destroyed the gravestones, claimed that yeah, someone inside had mentioned old Morse’s passing but he knew nothing of Lewis’ wife being dead, knew nothing of his promotion and his sergeant. Missing? Why would it be him?

He was reminded of his threats. But why kidnap the sergeant he wanted to know. If he were as crazy as he had been then, wouldn’t he find out if Lewis had a girlfriend? He watched DI Grainger exchange a look with his sergeant.

“You could have been watching Lewis,” Grainger finally said carefully.

“Yeah, that’s what I said, if I was mad, I could have been watching him, figured out if he had a woman.”

“If you’d been watching Lewis, you’d...” began Simmons but he was silenced with a look from his boss.

“Mind if we look around?" asked Grainger. “We can come back with a warrant.”

“Help yourself. I’ve nothing to hide.”

“Do you have trainers?”

“Other than these,” Standish pointed to his feet.

“Them and any others?”

“Just these.”

“Mind if we take them, for a cast.”

“I’ve got no more shoes, except the one’s I was released with. Can’t you take a cast here? I’ve nothing to hide.”

Grainger nodded to Simmons and he headed out of the room to go back to the car. “Do you have gloves? Colin?”

“Only these.” He fetched some black knitted wool gloves. “50p, Primark. Got most of my stuff from there. Have hardly any money, you know?”

“We’ll see.” Grainger pulled on a pair of plastic blue gloves from his pocket and began an almost fingertip search of the room.

*

The men were engrossed in their game and Hathaway was now by the door. A row began over a hand and Hathaway took his opportunity and jumped to his feet out of the caravan door and began running at full pelt in his socked feet across the scrubland.

*

Lewis watched Simmons go back into the hostel and sat there, staring at the door for three quarters of an hour until Granger and Simmons came out again, carrying a cast of trainer soles and some woolly gloves in evidence bags.

He ducked down in his car as they walked past.

“Either he’s the best actor this side of the RSC or he’d really into turning over a new leaf.”

“Dunno. Could be an act. He was such a gentle soul, everyone at his weird church and his work all said so, that even circumstantial evidence was first dismissed by Morse and Lewis, and I was a young DC back then, and I’m telling you Morse was as brilliant as they say, more so. Took a lot to fool Morse.”

“And Inspector Lewis was his bagman?”

“Yup. And he picked up loads from his mentor. If he suspects our Colin back there...” Grainger nodded to the hostel building.

“You have to ask yourself Sir,” Simmons said carefully, “After all the suspects – another with threats in writing, why he goes straight for Standish. After all, it was Mrs Lewis that was threatened, her and whoever Morse was going out with when he got out. Why is Lewis so sure...?”

“Not our business Bob, is it?”

Grainger stared at Lewis’ car as they got into his, telling his sergeant to drive. He got straight onto Innocent to complain that Inspector Lewis was trailing him.

*

Hathaway ran until his lungs felt they would explode and his legs were like jelly, heading for the woods and hopefully a road beyond. When he heard the first bang, he couldn’t comprehend he was being shot at, and then he didn’t hear the second as by then the motorbike had roared into action and was bearing down on him. Just as he got to the woods he skidded to a halt as a bullet ricocheted of the tree just in front of him. Dave then pulled up in front of him, and, kicking the stand, leapt off his bike and pulled Hathaway down in a clumsy rugby tackle. Tony came panting up and kicked Hathaway on the ground. Dave stood up and hauled him to his feet, giving him a hard punch to the ribs. Tony hit him in the lower back.

“You fucking bastard, don’t you run out on us again, didn’t think you were so stupid!” Tony spat out, pulling at Hathaway’s hair and smacking him across the face. Hathaway began to whimper, and, unresisting, he was lead back to the caravan and straight to the small bedroom where the handcuff was detached from the bed and his arms pulled behind his back and cuffed together.

“You need to pay for that,” Dave spat out. He turned to Tony. “Col don’t want him fucked, he said nothing about his mouth. You going to rat on me if I take this bloody whore now?”

“No! Don’t let him! Please!” Hathaway turned to Dave. “Please. Don’t... don’t... please, don’t...” Dave pushed him to his knees and wrenched his head back by his hair. Hathaway’s pleading turned to whimpers and then sobs...

“Leave him,” Tony said. “We’re not in prison now. You can get who you want, anytime. You don’t need a bitch like that, there’s real women out there Dave...”

“Unlike you,” Dave snapped, “I never adjusted my taste when I was banged up. I’ve always fancied blond pretty boys like this one.”

“Well, no one touches him ’til Col says. We get Morse’s bagman here first, then we all take his bitch for him to see. It what Col threatened and he never lies. Come on,” he pulled Dave away, out of the tiny bedroom. Hathaway fell over on his side, and with his hands cuffed behind his back he had to stay like that, shaking and crying, as he knew, in all its horror, what was planned for him and Lewis. And Lewis didn’t have to be his boyfriend for it to hurt Lewis like hell to see... that. Hathaway started giving himself a pep talk on how he survived Mortmaigne so he would survive this. But that nagging fear that they never hid their faces remained... Once they had ... had... him in front of Lewis, then what? Tony was fond of playing with that flick knife near his neck and ears...? He closed his eyes and gave into despair.

*

“Ma’am,” protested Lewis, he knew there was no point defending his actions, so as soon as he’d hung up on the Super he started his engine and drove away.

From his window on the third floor of the halfway house probation hostel in Cowley Colin Standish watched Lewis drive away and cursed under his breath.

*

“The thing is Ma’am...” Grainger began awkwardly.

“Out with it Inspector.”

“It’s Lewis Ma’am.”

“Following you or watching Standish, either way it was not on, and I have already told him so. I’ve given him a bit of leeway, him being so close, but he knows the second I hear another word of inappropriate behaviour he is down to DC. And this time I mean it.”

“That’s not what I wanted to say.”

“What then?”

“Being so close, you said Ma’am. My DS, no doubt the whole of CID, are asking themselves that, aren’t they? How close exactly?”

“You will have to explain yourself Inspector.”

“Ma’am. David Meadows wrote explicit death threats to Morse and Lewis from prison and was convicted of male rape and murder. Why is he convinced it’s Standish? Standish threatened to kidnap, rape and torture Mrs. Lewis, Ma’am – Mrs Lewis. Now, she’s gone a long time and DS Hathaway goes missing and Lewis is convinced Standish has carried out his threat – why? You have to ask yourself, what is he not telling us about the relationship he has with Hathaway to be convinced Hathaway had be kidnapped instead of his wife?”

“I had noticed, thank you Pete. I have no direct evidence to make such a conclusion, but it is because he might be so damned close I’ve taken him off the case.”

“Ma’am, it’s against regulations and... well, Lewis is a good bloke, straight, normal...”

Innocent raised her eyebrow. “Do I detect a whiff of homophobia in my office Inspector?”

“No Ma’am, it’s just.... weird.”

“It is indeed against regulations, but they are my best team and get results, and added to that, it’s not long to his retirement, so I can look the other way, and I intend to keep looking the other way. So you can do your best to stamp on any speculation in your team. Alright Inspector?”

“Ma’am.”

*

Hathaway didn’t know how long he had lain there; his shoulder and arm were numb, his back, stomach and face ached from where he’d been punched and kicked, he was parched with thirst and desperate to relieve himself. He had been concentrating on the rosary, counting off on his fingers – Latin, then English, Latin then English. It stopped his terrified sobbing; arrow prayers straight to the Queen of Heaven to protect him from dishonour... from rape...

Swearing, shouting and banging, and then the four by four roaring off towards the burned farmyard interrupted his concentration on his devotions. The door then banged open. Hathaway closed his eyes and went back to his Hail Mary’s, biting his lip to stop a whimper of fear. Dave was alone again.

Cold, sharp steel nipped at his throat, not quite breaking the skin.

“I let you go, I have this, remember. And a gun. So nothing funny, okay.” It was Tony, the Londoner.

James started to shake. “Okay? Lewis’ bitch? Okay?”

James nodded. The handcuffs were undone. Slowly James sat up, rubbing at his wrist and shoulder, then ripping off his wet, muddy socks. He slowly tried to stand.

“Where you going?"

“I need to pee. Please.”

“Out of the window then.”

James relieved himself and then sat on the bed. Tony sat next to him, handing him a bottle of mineral water. “What was that, I heard. Latin or something? Sounding like you was praying? Counting rosaries on your fingers, weren’t you? You a Catholic?”

“Yes,” James answered after a while, after the bottle was almost empty.

“How does that work, being queer?”

“I am not Inspector Lewis’ boyfriend. Truly. I’m not. Please, why won’t anyone believe me?”

“Col saw you together. He said it was bleeding obvious. You stay over.”

“On his sofa. Please, what he has seen is one sided. Inspector Lewis is straight. I am in love with him, which is what he’s seen. But to answer your question – do nothing. I do nothing. That’s how I can be queer and Catholic, okay. Nothing. I am doing nothing with Inspector Lewis. Please!”

“You scared?”

“Of course I’m bloody scared. Why are you doing what Col wants?”

“You’re a fucking liar coz you’re scared, right?” He threw a Mars Bar at Hathaway, who wished he had the strength to throw it straight back, but he was so hungry, he took the chocolate and the fruit and the coke. After he had finished eating and drinking Tony handcuffed his ankle to the bottom of the bed and left him again, after taking a couple of photos of his face, black eyes and bruised chin and all. Hathaway lay staring at the woods and field, watching a fox walk out of the wood, and then a muntjac deer, as well as plenty of wood pigeons, which were making quite a racket. He went back to his prayers; he had nothing left to him.

*

It was early evening yet Lewis was already half-cut, wandering around his flat just swigging from the brandy bottle he had stopped off to buy on his way home. He stood, watching the sun sink in the sky, remembering...

Sergeant Lewis stormed from the interview room. He knew Standish had got to him, and he knew Standish knew it too, but he couldn’t help it. He leant on his desk taking great gulps of air, trying to centre himself.

The man was disturbed. The man was going to prison, no doubt. It was an empty threat designed to get to him. It wouldn’t happen, it couldn’t!

“Lewis,” Morse said carefully from the door. “He’s trying to get to you.”

“Aye. And he’s succeeding. That’s the third time that bastard had said he’s going to – and in such detail!”

“He threatened both us Lewis.”

“With respect Sir, he threatened neither of us, he threatened our women – why, some mythical possibility in your case Sir – with respect! But he was telling me what he is going to do to Val. My Val!”

Morse’s hand squeezed his shoulder, “Threatened her, Robbie. He’s not going to do anything, he’s going to prison, and I won’t let him. You hear me Robbie. No one is going to hurt Mrs Lewis.”

Lewis sighed, trying to accept the words he knew to be true. Standish was going to prison, where he could hurt no one. He mustn’t let it get to him. It was what Standish wanted. He tried to put out of his mind what had been described in explicit, vile detail to him. But for months it came back in nightmares, and he’d wake in a cold sweat, heart palpitating in his chest, to look down on the safe, sleeping Val. He would brush her hair from her face, kiss her gently and snuggle into her, breathing in her scent, listening to her breathing, telling himself over and over again that she was safe and would remain so until he fell back asleep.

Lewis took another huge gulp of the brandy. Well, Val hadn’t been safe forever, an idiot with a fast car in a bank raid had seen to that, but she was safe now, Standish couldn’t hurt her. But James? He’d taken James; he’d swear it. He was going to do all that to James. Three separate incidents reported in prison concerning Standish sexually assaulting other prisoners told Lewis it was perfectly possible that bastard was going to inflict on James every sick thing he’d threatened his Val with. His sergeant! His James!

Where did that come from?

Well, Standish thought it, didn’t he? Other people thought it. All the bloody time. And he wasn’t blind; he could see his sergeant had a God Almighty huge crush on him.

*

It was dark. Hathaway could no longer watch wildlife. He could hear the background drone of Tony’s radio and heard him light the camping gas lamp and the stove, muttering to himself. He had been reciting favourite poetry to himself to stop himself going mad with the fear of what they were threatening but now, as the last rays of the sun sank beneath the woods he closed his eyes and began to recite the evening office, aloud. As he did so he heard the roar of the four by four and then the doors bang and loud voices shout. It was Dave and Col coming back. Soon, if it were like the first night, the thugs would go and leave the ‘mastermind’, although all three seemed to hate Inspector Lewis unreasonably. It seemed to Hathaway he was getting third hand revenge, aimed at Morse, targeted instead at his sergeant and here he was, as they said, bait. And the means of the punishment, it seemed, too.

After what seemed like an age Col came in carrying a lamp and some bags. He threw the bags on the bed next to Hathaway and hung the camping light from a hook on the ceiling. Next he took some candles and put them on the nightstand next to the bed and lit them. Hathaway watched him through suspicious, nervous eyes.

Col took the gun from his pocket and showed Hathaway before pocketing it again and opening the smallest bag. He handed Hathaway a wrapped bundle in white, greasy paper. It smelt heavenly. Hathaway fell on the fish and chips and started eating with his fingers. It was lukewarm, suggesting that a fish and chip shop was nearer than the Indian takeaway.

“Thank you,” he said after he had eaten enough to stop his stomach-ache.

“I got you these,” Col said, touching Hathaway lightly. “You’re cold, ain’t you? Should have thought yesterday.” He pulled out some cheap pyjama bottoms and a tee shirt, both blue, white cotton boxers and a beige thick sweater and fluffy black bed socks. A second bag contained a cheap 9-tog duvet. Col got up and walked away as Hathaway just tugged the duvet about him.

Col returned a few moments later with the bowl full of warmish water, a flannel and a towel, along with soap. He undid the cuff around Hathaway’s ankle. “Strip, wash yourself all over and get into the clean stuff.”

“Why?”

“Don’t you want to be clean?”

“Yes, but...”

“I don’t want you getting no infection, or just being stinky. When Sugar Daddy gets here he is going to watch us take what’s his, and we don’t want you filthy, boy, do we?”

“No.” Hathaway sat on the bed and stared at the soap.

“The gun,” Col said mildly, “I have a gun bitch.”

“You need me alive.”

“I could shoot off a toe. Dave’s got paramedic training, he could clear up the mess afterwards.” Col said this as if he had something quite normal. Hathaway shuddered and began to undress. Col watched him. “Yeah. Fucking gorgeous. Lewis has taste. Though his woman was lovely too. You make sure you wash that cock and arse of yours, boy. Everywhere.”

Hathaway did as he was told, pretending it was just normal, he’d washed in front of boys often enough at school, but this was... he had to think of something else. He washed and dried himself as quickly as he could, then pulled on the clothes he’d been given.

Col produced a thick chain from a small hardware store bag and attached one half of a pair of cuffs to one end and then to the bed leg. He attached a second pair of cuffs – not Hathaway’s; Hathaway didn’t know where they had come from, to the other end of the chain and then to Hathaway’s ankle.

“There, now feel free to piss out of the window when you need. Bucket over there for other stuff,” he pointed to the corner. “Now, although you’ve not been a good boy, running off like that, I got you a present.” He threw the last carrier bag at Hathaway – one with The Works logo on it. “I looked around your flat, boy, clever dick like Morse, ain’t yer?”

Hathaway looked in the bag, a Dickens, a Wilkie Collins and Tolkien. There was also a guitar magazine and a copy of GQ.

“Not really into Loaded or Heat are you? And the books were three for two, so I got the poncy ones. See, you might be here a while. Your lover’s not so bright without Morse is he? Still, he’ll find you, he loves his little toy boy, doesn’t he?”

“He is not my lover! Inspector Lewis is not my boyfriend! Why won’t you believe me?”

“Coz you’re lying, coz I’ve been watching him since I got out. At first it was a toss up between you and that pathologist, but she don’t spend any time with him out of work except for the odd coffee or pint and one meal, but you and him – you’re together nearly all the time, round his flat, you cooking or one of you fetching a takeaway or home delivery and that. Pubs and playing squash and you stay over, boy, so don’t try to lie, alright, you look at him like he’s your God, so bloody devoted and obedient. Bet you take like a good boy for him, huh? Bet he can do what he wants with that gorgeous body of your, eh? Well, guess what, soon we will too. And you’ll love it, whore, I’ve been watching you.” Col leaned forward and put his hand on Hathaway’s crotch and squeezed. Col laughed. “You are such a cock tease, and really, aren’t you betraying Sugar Daddy with all this lying?”

“No. No! NO!!! Why won’t you listen! He’s not my boyfriend! I don’t have a boyfriend! I don’t do anything! Please believe me!” And just kill me now, Hathaway added mentally, I know you must be planning to, you don’t hide your faces, please let me just die.

Col just laughed again and left him, taking the lamp, but he left him the candles, which was better than last night, spent shivering in his clothes and a thin blanket on a dirty, stinking old camp bed. Now he had clean clothes, warm sweater and socks, and a thick king-size duvet to wrap himself in. Unfortunately, he wasn’t carrying residual chloroform in his system so it wasn’t so easy to sleep. Particularly with all the threats...


	4. Day 3

Lewis woke up to a hideous ringing. He head was thumping and his vision blurred. He opened one eye and instantly shut it. Why did his back scream in pain?

The ringing started again. It was his doorbell. Then his phone rang. Conditioned by years in CID Lewis hauled himself up right from his sofa and answered.

“Lewis.”

“Let me in Lewis,” Innocent said with out preamble and then hung up.

Lewis hauled himself to his feet and stumbled down the corridor to the flat front door.

“Robbie!” 

Innocent took in the unshaven, rumpled Lewis, still in his suit from yesterday, the pungent smell of unwashed flesh and stale alcohol assaulting her nose, and pushed past him and headed for the kitchen.

“Ma’am?” he followed her, startled as she just put on the kettle and searched for mugs and coffee. “What are you doing, Ma’am?”

“I’ve been reviewing yours and Morse’s case notes on our three main suspects. I have news. But first of all, Lewis, go get in the shower. I’ll make you coffee and toast. Don’t bother with the suit; you’re on leave. Don’t make it awkward or I will have to suspend you. I have questions.”

“Ma’am.” Lewis did as he was told. It was slightly scary to have his boss in his flat, ordering him around.

*

Hathaway flinched as Dave came into the bedroom, hearing the four by four accelerate away and he knew he was alone again with the biker.

“So, princess, you telling me your name today? I’m thinking Sergeant Hathaway’s not a name to get to know you by, so...?”

Hathaway stared up with tired, sullen eyes, swollen and red from crying with absolute fear. He hated to give in to the fear, but he hurt so much, and having spent all the time until the candle burned down trying to pick the cuff lock with a prong of a plastic fork, the prong of a wooden chip fork and a rusty screw he’d found under the camp bed, he’d fallen into an exhausted sleep just before dawn. The roar of the motorbike, the shouted greeting, the engine of the four by four and more shouts, this time of farewells as well as greetings, had pulled him from blissful unconsciousness.

“I don’t want to get to know you,” he said bitterly. “I want you to release me. Lewis is my boss, nothing more.”

“That’s why you stay over, right? He’s just your boss.”

“Alright, he’s my friend. But nothing more. He’s straight. He wouldn’t want me.”

“Unlike me princess. Would you trade with me for your release? Got a second helmet with me.”

Hathaway looked a long while at Dave. “I don’t believe you. You’d get what you want and then leave me here. And your ‘boss’ threatened to kill you if you touch me, so what would he do to you if you let me go?”

Dave pulled a bottle of orange juice from a pocket and threw it at Hathaway. It landed on the bed in front of him.

“Stay there.”

“Where am I going to go?”

Dave returned with a bacon roll. It was home made, not shop bought, and stone cold. Hathaway accepted it but felt too sick to eat. He looked evenly at Dave and said, “You get me away from here first. Payment second. But I don’t know what you’re expecting, I’ve already told you – several times – I’ve not had a boyfriend.”

Dave laughed. “Nice try, but guess what sweetie, you were right, I’d have taken you and left you. But shit, you really are telling the truth, aren’t you?”

Hathaway nodded. “He’s not my boyfriend, lover, whatever, he’s my boss, and I think he sees me as some sort of substitute son, although he has a real one, somewhere in Australia.”

“So, do you have a girlfriend?”

Hathaway shook his head. “Tried that. Wasn’t very good. Please, please tell Col I’m not his boyfriend, please? I don’t think I can... Are you going to kill me?”

Dave shrugged. “Col threatened Lewis’ wife, and years ago I said I’d kill the bastards who banged me up. Tony hates Morse. Col has the plan, but Lewis has to find you first.”

“I’m going to fight, you know, make it so impossible you’ll have to kill me. I decided that last night. You tell Col, since that’s not his plan. I’m going to spoil his plan.”

Dave shrugged again. “There are three of us princess, so don’t raise your hopes.” And he sat on the bed and reached across to grab at Hathaway, pulling him by his hair to kiss him, before pinching his arse, hard. Hathaway, with both hands free, struggled and lashed out, catching Dave a right hook, but Dave yanked the chain attached to the cuff around his ankle and pulled Hathaway flat before hitting him with the chain and slapping his face. Hathaway let out an anguished sob, but he saw guilt and doubt in Dave’s eyes.

*

Dressed in a pale blue polo shirt, grey v-neck sweater and jeans, Lewis sat in his easy chair opposite the sofa, hands curled around his coffee mug, staring nervously at his boss as she told him Andrew Jackson had absconded from his bail hostel. Andrew Jackson had been arrested and charged by DS Morse for a teenage knife fight, where he had stabbed three other teenagers soon after his family had relocated from the East End to an Oxfordshire village; later DI Morse had tracked and arrested him for a knife assault on his girlfriend – he had carved his initials on her back, along with other injuries. DCI Morse and DS Lewis had arrested him for the torture of several young girls with a knife, and the manslaughter of his wife. Dave Meadows, who had raped and tortured a young man in Oxford and had previous assaults taken into consideration from matching Manchester CID fingerprints when prosecuted, and who had been arrested by Morse and Lewis, had not shown up for his previous two probation interviews. He was the one who had written Morse death threats from prison. As he also had previous on kidnap and male rape, he was the most likely suspect. Jackson, however, had always bragged in prison how he was going to get ‘the bastards’ who had put him away, especially Morse, who he blamed for ruining his life and his ‘accidental killing’ of his own wife.

“We have two more likely suspects than Standish, Lewis,” Innocent concluded, “and we have people working all hours to find them and any information. Now, despite the evidence that out of these three possibilities, why are you going for the one who has offered cooperation and appears to be trying to turn his life around? I need to ask, Lewis, the speculation through my station is rife.”

“Ask what Ma’am?”

“Lewis, Standish threatened to abduct, and then rape, torture and kill your wife in front of you. James has disappeared – probably chloroformed in his flat and driven out of Oxford in a transit van and you are convinced it’s Standish. Why?”

“He threatened to...” Lewis tailed off. “You should have heard him Ma’am. He’d... With respect ma’am, you weren’t there, on the interviews, he was so convincing in his threats, so detailed...”

“He threatened your wife Lewis. Do I have to ask directly?”

“Ma’am?”

“Are you having a sexual relationship with your sergeant?”

“No. But people think it ma’am, all the time.”

“Well, I shall have to believe you Inspector.” And with that, Innocent stood up to leave.

*

Col walked into a cafe on The Broad and joined Tony.

“I can’t believe how fucking expensive coffee got.”

“And so many bleeding types. Go for an Americano – that’s regular coffee, right?”

“Bloody more expensive than beer,” he said, returning a few moments later.

“Yeah,” said Tony, pushing an A4 envelope across the table. Col briefly pulled out a couple of sheets and grinned, before quickly pushing them back inside.

“Perfect.”

*

“That was bloody scary,” Lewis said to Monty, kneading his fur as the purrs vibrated the cat on his lap, having a calming effect. Monty had disappeared at the smell of brandy and hadn’t been too happy to return until the female had gone. “But if she thinks I’m just staying off this case she’s bloody mistaken. This is our James, isn’t it Monty? We can’t trust them, however good Grainger might be. I know it’s Standish. I know it!”

Monty jumped off Lewis’ lap at the sound of banging on the door. Lewis went to the door and saw an A4 envelope. He stooped to pick it up and opened it.

“Shit!”

A picture of James, red, swollen eyes, one of them black and blue, looking terrified. Both cheeks were red and there was a nasty cut and bruise on his chin. There was also what looked suspiciously like a ‘love-bite’ on his neck. Under the photo, written in black felt tip in capitals,

“I TOLD YOU. I KEEP MY THREAT. SHAME YOUR WOMAN DIED BUT I’VE GOT YOUR BITCH. COME GET HIM.”

Lewis opened the door and looked down the landing, but of course, it was too late.

*

Lewis stormed away from the station, his mood even fouler than ever.

“Thank you for your assistance,” Lewis quoted Grainger, a fair imitation of his London accent and all, throwing his hands up in despair. The threat had been taken by Simmons, who had taken a brief statement, and then Grainger came to shoo him out of the building, reminding him that Innocent didn’t want him involved, but agreeing that it was looking likely his suspicions were correct, but as the other two had disappeared, the possibility that they had been in the same prison at the same time was being explored.

Lewis hoped he had never been so dismissive of any friend, relative or spouse of a kidnap victim.

*

Hathaway’s only source of peace, apart from when he found strength to pray, was observing the young vixen and her three cubs. Now he could move, he pulled the chair to the window to watch them as they came out of the wood to play in the scrub, the two males tumbling over one another in a play fight, the female bouncing on long, waving pieces of grass. The mother fox stood proud and alert, watching over her young. Hathaway pressed his fingers to the cracked glass of the caravan window, trying to take joy in the scene, thinking of St. Francis of Assisi, trying to remember an appropriate quote. Funeral prayers came more readily to mind.

“I’m not going to die!” he told himself aloud.

Oh yes you are, he argued with himself. What’s the alternative?

He put his head in his hands, God’s innocent and beautiful creation no longer able to provide distraction. “Oh Lord and the Holy Mother, please...” He rifled his brain for some comfort, “Saint Maria Goretti, help me be brave and follow your example,” he whispered. He began to weep again, because he knew it was only a matter of time, and he also knew – knowing Lewis – that Lewis would not wait for back up once he had figured it out, probably believing he had only this Col to deal with.

*

Lewis sat in his car, two houses up from the hostel, staring at the front door, almost not blinking, while stuffing mini Mars bar after mini Mars bar in his mouth, barely chewing, comfort eating, he knew.

*

Colin looked out of his window and smiled. He pulled out the cheap pay-as-you-go mobile phone and sent the pre-typed text and then grabbed his jacket.

*

It was not easy – not impossible, but not easy – to trail a person on foot in a car, but Lewis did so. Even less easy, as Lewis had previously, as a sergeant, learned to his cost, to trail a person on a bus, but Lewis managed it. This was one recently released convict he wasn’t going to lose.

*

Colin got off the bus on the High and walked around the corner to St. Aldgates, empty bus after empty bus going past, on their trips to the rail station or just to circle back around and pick up opposite where they dropped. He negotiated throngs of happy tourists, preoccupied students, harrassed mothers with buggies, pensioners wobbling with sticks and frames and worse, gaggles of sullen, rude, teenaged language school students with their neon matching backpacks. There were many things he had got used to about prison – routine, order, lack of women to distract one – and some things that were a positive bonus, like the lack of these crowds and noise and people. Well, he would carry out his promise to that northern bastard, Morse’s bagman, and his bitch, and then he could go back forever and never have to worry about all these mouthy tarts in their short skirts and low cut tops. It had got worse since he’d been inside, the flesh on show, the attitude and lip of these bitches...

*

A uniformed officer flagged Lewis down, asking him what on earth was he doing, was he lost, this was closed to all but buses and taxis. Lewis just waved his warrant card with a snarl. The young woman was surprised when she recognized him. DI Lewis was usually so lovely. But she was traffic division and paid no attention to gossip, finishing her shift and running to the child minder, so she had not heard that DS Hathaway had been abducted by a maniac out to get Lewis.

*

“Want to eat princess?” Dave said, coming in and sitting on the bed next to Hathaway, who was curled up in a ball. He picked up the uneaten breakfast bacon roll and lunchtime chicken and ham sandwich. “Not hungry? Got you this,” he waved a packet of cheap Tesco Value jam tarts and a bottle of iced tea.

Hathaway sat up and shook his head miserably, but he took the drink. He wanted to plead again to be let go but he knew there was no point.

*

Just the other side of Folly Bridge a Suzuki jeep was parked. Standish got in. Lewis followed. He tried to let Grainger know, but both he and Simmons wouldn’t answer their mobiles.

The car accelerated on to the A34. Lewis put his foot down to follow.

Control reminded him he was on leave and to go home, to pass on the number plate and leave it to them to pass on to the appropriate team.

Lewis tried all three again as he turned off onto the A415, three cars behind the Suzuki.

He left voicemails on all three phones, as well as CSI Innocent’s, to say they had turned off on to small lane heading for the village Frilford.

When he crossed the A420 and doubled back for a moment he stopped to text Innocent to tell her that they were now heading past Faringdon and into Wiltshire.

After another half an hour Lewis became certain that this twisted, convoluted route was merely to avoid A-roads and traffic cameras, coming off the one road as he did, just before the A420 and heading for any number of villages down towards Grove and Wantage, but instead he crossed the A420 at a small junction that carried no cameras and continued his torturous route, avoiding B-road, let alone A-roads, for another hour, into Wiltshire and doubling back to pass villages the other side of Faringdon and back towards the A420. Lewis continued to follow, knowing now Standish must be aware of him, also knowing he was totally lost, apart from the fact he had a CID phone and car with trackers. He tried again to speak to someone, desperately, as they went through a five house, one pub hamlet, finally leaving a message on the Chief Super’s private mobile,

“Ma’am, you can have my badge, but I’ve followed Standish deep in to the country. He’s driven by someone, if memory serves, looks like an aged, bearded Jackson. Ma’am, track me, find me, sack me if you must, but pick up, please...”

The four by four turned off the tiny, narrow single track, unmaintained lane and into a rutted farm track. The four by four made short work of it, the Vauxhall Vectra however, had great difficulty, and was grounded someway before whatever was their destination. Cursing, Lewis abandoned his car, and grabbed his phone and coat and got out to walk, praying to Hathaway’s God that it wasn’t too far.

As he approached the burnt out farm buildings he could see three men armed with baseball bat, flick knife and handgun. He skirted around to the side and crawled through a gap in the hedgerow, coming out the other side with hair full of twigs and leaves and face scratched. He could see a caravan and edged slowly towards it, keeping down and close to the hedge.

*

Hathaway couldn’t believe what he was seeing: Lewis legging it across the field to the caravan, having seen him in the window. He tried to gesture for him to get back, to go, but in hardly any time he was at the window.

“Sir! Go! Dave is around here and...”

“How many kidnappers, James?”

“Three Sir, but...”

“I followed two and there’s three waiting at those burnt out buildings, waiting for my car, but I grounded...” Lewis trailed off at the sight of flames in the distance. “Shit, I think that’s me car, it had nearly a full tank, apart from what I used...” he trailed off at the flash of light followed by the ear-splitting sound of the explosion. “Fuck. Come; let’s get you out of here. I’d come round but then we can be seen from that old farmyard. Is there something you can smash the window with?”

“I can’t! I’m chained.”

“What?”

“Around my ankle is my handcuffs, and it’s attached to a thick chain.”

“Well, aren’t ours a pair, I’ll just fish out me key...” Lewis had deliberately brought his cuffs in his coat, taken out of his work clothes as he had intended to follow Standish whatever happened at the station after he had taken in the threat. “You find something to smash the window. I’ll stand back.” Lewis took a step back and to the side, around the back end of the caravan and as he did so he was struck on the back of his head, barely registering James’ startled cry of warning, too late. He slumped to the ground as blackness claimed him.

*

When Lewis came to he was uncomfortably slumped against a wall, his hands behind his back. He groaned with pain and tried to move, straightening himself, pulling his hands; as he did so the wrists were bitten by painful metal. He tried to pull both together and felt the resistance of a pipe or some such.

“He’s awake,” he heard the maniacal voice of Andrew 'Tony' Jackson say. He remembered that voice, how he loved his knife more than anything, how he had held his own wife to ransom when he and Morse went to make the arrest, how he had cut her piece by piece, in front of them, until she bled to death, and how he had blamed Morse for her death.

“Open your eyes you bastard, it’s no use pretending.” That was Standish.

Lewis opened his eyes. He felt sick for a moment as his vision swam, finally coalescing on the form of Standish standing in front of him, holding a gun. Jackson stood on his left, twisting his beloved knife in his fingers, laughing. Another man, stockier, bald and tattooed, stood by the doorway, smoking. He grinned as he realised Lewis was scrutinizing him. It was Meadows.

“Right, now you’ve got me you’ll let the lad go,” Lewis said. “It’s me you want, it’s me you’ve got now.”

“Yeah, right, like that was part of the deal. I made you a promise, you smug, Geordie bastard. Just coz Valerie got out of it by getting herself run over –” Lewis winced, he couldn’t hide how the words hurt. Jackson laughed. “- doesn’t mean your bitch won’t get it.”

“He’s not my bitch! Boyfriend!” Lewis amended hurriedly. “He’s a wee bit of a lad, and you leave him alone, you hear!” he moved forward, his arms wrenched out by his bonds.

“Yeah yeah, you would say that. But I’ve watched you, watched your body language, watched his lovesick puppy dog eyes, watched you ogle his tight arse enough to know. So don’t you try your lies with me!”

“Looking means nothing,” Lewis snarled.

Standish turned his back on Lewis and walked through the small door curtained off with mouldy garish plastic strips and a plywood door, half hanging off and broken. The other two men followed him.

“Leave him alone!” Lewis yelled after them, struggling further against the cuffs and the pipe. It creaked as it came a little away from the caravan side.

*

James Hathaway had almost given up hope. When the men came in they found him on his knees, head bent, and attitude of prayer not surrender – or rather, not surrender or submission to them. His lips were moving and they could catch the odd word, probably Latin.

Dave Meadows went up behind him and put his hands under his arms and hauled him to his feet.

“NO!!!” Hathaway yelled and cracked his head back, catching Dave on his chin as he was pulled up. He struggled more as Tony came and held him by his ankles, preventing him kicking out. Hathaway lashed out desperately, the odd punch hitting one or other of the men, but not enough to deter them. It only seemed to make them laugh.

“No! Leave me alone!” he shouted some more as, with a word to the other two, Col undid the cuff and started to pull off his trousers and pants. “NO!!” Hathaway managed to get one leg free and kicked out, the kick landing on Tony’s knee. He buckled momentarily before punching Hathaway across the face.

“Hold him!” Tony yelled to Dave, who slid his arms down to Hathaway’s waist and tightened his grip. Col came and pulled off the tee shirt and sweater before yanking his arms back, with Dave’s help, and cuffing them.

“Leave go of me! Let go! No!!!” Hathaway cried out again, this time higher pitched, less aggressive and violent and more desperate. With Tony holding his legs and Dave his waist they lifted him to carry him out of the room. He still squirmed and struggled, but he was beginning to panic and his breathing was becoming irregular

*

Meanwhile the com centre finally passed Lewis’ messages on to Grainger and he and Simmons checked their ignored voicemails and went straight to Innocent. At the same time as Lewis had regained consciousness CID and uniform were a flurry of frenetic activity. Innocent and an armed response officer had boarded a police helicopter following her sending a message for the Chief Constable to liase with Wiltshire constabulary over the fact that Oxfordshire police might be entering their territory, that they had one man abducted and another possibly down.

Tech tracked the car and phone to last known locations, and was guiding the helicopter. Meanwhile, patrol cars from Wantage, Faringdon and Abingdon were being scrambled out, along with an ambulance standing by on the A420.

As Hathaway was carried through to the main section of the caravan and Lewis, the armed officer eyeballed a fire out of the corner of his left eye and pointed, yelling over the whump whump of the blades and the static of a bad radio headset.

*

Lewis couldn’t bear it, all he could hear. When he heard James’ voice crack and cry out, “Leave go of me! Let go! No!!!” he pulled so hard against the cuffs and pipe he broke it away from the metal panel, but he also heard the sickening crack almost before he felt the doubly sickening pain in his wrist. He came close to passing out and his knees buckled, wrenching his arms and shoulders back and up even more, adding to the pain.

“Sir!”

He looked up. James was being carried through, fighting with every shaky, uneven breath.

“James!”

The men made a lot of dirty remarks and sniggers regarding the fact James called him sir, but Lewis was finding it difficult to focus on anything, the pain in his wrist and shoulders and his concern for James fighting for priority in his mind. James was pushed to the floor in front of him as one of the men, Lewis couldn’t have said which, pulled his own head up by his hair to look. He looked at James, long, tall, thin, naked James, but all he could see were the bruises on face, ribs and stomach; burns and chafes on the wrist, finger bruising to the calves and thighs. He tried to make eye contact but James had closed his eyes. The lad had begun to cry. He was shaking.

“James. Look at me. Please. Look at me. You can do this, you hear me.”

James was muttering. Lewis felt sure he was praying.

“Open your eyes pet.”

James’ eyes snapped open at the use of the word pet. Once upon a time he’d have given anything to be called that by his boss in those soft, gentle tones, but right now it didn’t help his case one little bit.

“I’m going to get you out of here. I promise. You just have to hang on. I’m not losing you. You hear me!”

“I... I can’t... I can’t... not again... never again... not three of them, not... please, why won’t you just kill me!” this last bit was yelled at Colin Standish, as James turned his head. Lewis looked too, expecting what he saw, the smug look on Standish’s face.

“Not a chance ‘pet’,” he said in an appalling imitation of Lewis. He took out a pack of playing cards from his pocket and starting shuffling them, gazing with lust at James, who had been pushed down on his knees, face pushed forward to the floor. Every time he tried to raise his head or move Dave’s booted foot came to rest on his neck to keep him as he was, prostrate and ready.

Standish spread the shuffled cards and he, Meadows and Jackson all took one. Meadows grinned and held up an ace.

“I get me first go,” he said happily, “and unlike these guys,” he said to Lewis, “I believed your sergeant and I believe you.”

“What?” snapped Standish.

Meadows ignored him, “He’s obviously important to you, whatever, but I know I’m getting me a virgin ex priest.” He leaned forward to Lewis, smirking, before grabbing hold of James by the shoulder and arm and pulling him up, guiding his face to his crotch, letting go of James’ hair to undo his fly. “You can just suck me hard, bitch. I’m nearly there, but...” Meadows had to grab James as he struggled away, trying and failing to stumble to his feet with his arms behind his back.

“NO!!! No! Just kill me, you’re going to have to kill me, I won’t, I won’t...” James by now was screaming his words, more than half hysterical with fear.

“Someone grab that bloody whore for me!” Meadows yelled.

“Got the bitch,” yelled Jackson, coming up behind James and holding his waist. James kicked back desperately but then fell fully, Jackson letting him fall.

Standish produced the handgun and levelled it at Hathaway’s temple. “No,” he said, “that won’t work,” and he spun around and aimed it instead at Lewis’ forehead. “Look little boy, look, I’m going to shoot Sugar Daddy if you don’t play nicely.”

A terrified sob escaped James, “God forgive me, God forgive me, God forgive me...”

“James. Look at me. Keep looking at me. Please. Of course God will forgive you. I need you James. I need you to live. Just look at me, keep looking at me...” Lewis kept this up, babbling, repeating himself, until James’ pale eyes locked with his own as Meadows pushed James over again, completed undoing his fly and spat into his hand...

Lewis hesitated a moment before telling James again to look at him, to concentrate on his voice – I can’t do this, he thought, I can’t watch...

In the heat of the drama no one had paid any attention to the drub of chopper blades. This was Oxfordshire with its many air force bases and training was forever going on in the airspace of the countryside. But now the sound grew louder and louder. The caravan began to vibrate and then shake as a helicopter hovered literally above it before pulling back and landing in front of the wood.

“What the fuck?” Meadows pushed Hathaway to the floor before doing himself up and rushing, with the other two men, outside.

As the blades came to rest, another sound could be heard – sirens. Police sirens. Many, many of them.

“Fuck!” Standish yelled and pushed the other men back inside and slammed the door. A woman’s voice reached them through a loud hailer.

“Colin Standish. David Meadows. Andrew Jackson. It would be better if you would give yourself up now. It would look better for you in court. I’m here with an armed officer and more officers are on the way. You can’t go anywhere. It would be better if you released my officers now.”

Lewis looked at James and grinned feebly, “I told you to hang on, didn’t I?”


	5. The lasf few hours

Innocent waited after laying down her offer, lowering the loud hailer and looking at the armed officer, who was sighting the caravan. Cars were arriving, parking on the old farmyard, while a Range Rover approached her and the marksman. She took a few moments to relay orders to surround the caravan, at a distance. A paramedic on a bike arrived and she instructed he stay back, with the vehicles. 

“What can you see?” she asked the marksman as he looked down his sights. Another officer passed her a pair of binoculars.

“Thanks constable.”

“Ma’am. We have nine officers in the field, plus another paramedic in a car has arrived.”

“Good. Well?”

“Ma’am,” answered the marksman. “Not much. There are blinds at one window. I have a clear view of the back, bigger windows, but they are not there. I can make out three men along with the Inspector and Sergeant Hathaway. Both are cuffed, hands behind their back, Ma’am. Looked like the inspector was cuffed to something on the wall. One, the man with the beard, has a knife, but he’s just flicking it in and out of its casing, not threatening either officer. Another has something in one hand, could be a gun, or a piece of piping. Can’t make it out. And Ma’am.”

“Yes?”

“Hathaway is naked.”

“Noted Sergeant Baker.”

“But Ma’am, the threat to...”

“There’s nothing we can do one way or another right now except focus on getting our men out alive. It’s either happened or not, and either way, I want both of them back alive.” She put the binoculars to her eyes and scanned the caravan and its surroundings.

After a while she sighed and put the loud hailer to her mouth. “You are surrounded, and we have armed officers here. I would advice you again to release Inspector Lewis and Sergeant Hathaway now.”

There were a few moments of nothing and then the caravan door opened and Standish emerged, holding Hathaway, a knife pushed into his throat.

“Send them away and you got a deal. Let us drive away and you can have them.”

“James. Are you harmed?” Innocent asked, although she could plainly see he was bruised. She walked closer, slowly, hands raised, so she could speak without use of the loud hailer, where other officers might not over hear her.

The knife was pushed further against Hathaway’s neck. “I said – Deal?”

“I can’t make any deal until I know both my officers are unharmed. Let him speak. James, are you unharmed?”

“Relatively, Ma’am.”

“And... is your...?”

“Intact Ma’am.”

“And Lewis? Is he unharmed?”

“I think he may have broken his wrist, but other than that, yes. He’s alive and unharmed.”

“Enough. Do we deal? You go away, ‘cept you and your chopper and then you let us drive away – no one follows and we’ll leave these two for you. Well?”

“I need to talk to people. I don’t have that kind of authority,” Innocent bluffed.

“You do that!” Standish said and pulled Hathaway inside and slammed the door.

*

“Get them to the back,” Standish snapped as soon as he slammed the door, dragging Hathaway to the tiny bedroom.

“Why?” demanded Meadows.

“Nearer the wood, maybe we’ll not be seen so much!”

“Yeah!” Jackson grabbed the knife back and laughed maniacally again. Standish pushed Hathaway at him and headed for Lewis, picking up the gun he’d left on the floor, Meadows refusing to pick it up. He grabbed Lewis and pulled him, broken pipe attached to his arms and all.

“Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck!” Meadows muttered as he followed everyone.

*

“Standish!” called Innocent after a few moments. “Release Hathaway first before we agree to any further terms. As a sign of good will.” As she lowered the loud hailer she turned to Baker, “Do you have them?”

“The windows are cracked and dirty, but I have them sighted Ma’am.”

*

“It’s me you really want. Do as she says and let the boy go, after all, he really isn’t my boyfriend, so you have no reason to hold him,” Lewis got out through his teeth, the pain in his wrist and shoulders making it hard to concentrate on much, adrenalin the only thing keeping him from passing out.

“Shut up! Just shut the fuck up! You’re confusing me!” Standish screamed, spinning around and levelling the handgun at Lewis’ head, aiming right between his eyes.

*

“Ma’am. I have a shot. A clear shot. Someone may move in a moment,” Baker said, trying to keep the shake from his voice and failing.

Better the boy’s voice shook than his hand, thought Innocent, lowering her binoculars. Yes, she had seen it, a clear reason not to hesitate. “Do it.”

*

Lewis turned his head, blinking out blood and other matter as Meadows began to swear loudly, terrified, pressing himself to the wall by the door, putting his hands to his mouth. Wordlessly, in shock, Jackson stared at the prone body of Standish, just dropped between him and Lewis. Panicked he grabbed Hathaway from the bed where he had pushed him and shoved the blade against his neck as he dragged Hathaway to his feet and pushed him in front of Lewis, moving the blade to behind Hathaway’s ear.

“Make them stand down. Tell them to stop shooting, tell them to leave us. Go on you bastard; make it stop! Now! It’s just like when you bastards killed my woman!”

“You put the knife down Tony. Come one, think man. You want them to stop you put the knife down.”

“Tell them to fuck off or your bitch gets it.”

Hathaway’s eyes met Lewis’ for a moment before he closed his eyes in an attitude of total acceptance. It worried Lewis more than anything else.

“You’re not going to do that, are you, not if you-”

*

“I can’t get a clear sight, Ma’am,” Baker sounded like he was panicked. He had just killed a man, and although he had been trained for this situation, this was his first time in the field he had been required to pull the trigger.

“Keep your sights on them Baker. Keep calm. I can see. As soon as Hathaway’s is not at risk you have a shot, you hear me? Stay calm, I’m watching too. I’ll make the call, okay? Stay focused, Terence, stay with me. Hopefully, Lewis will talk him down. It looks like he’s trying to from here, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes Ma’am. Oh God!” Baker said as his hand began to tremble.

“Come on Terence, stay focused. Try distracting yourself while you keep your sights. You’ve had the training, it won’t fail you, I promise.”

“God, he’s beautiful,” Baker said idly, doing as he was told, trying to stop his hands shaking.

“Who? Hathaway? M’m. Don’t like the bruises though. Or... Now!” she cried as Jackson turned, pushing Hathaway further at Lewis, his back obscuring any view of Hathaway.

“Is the knife still...?”

“Do it! That’s an order sergeant.”

*

The force pushed Hathaway against Lewis as Jackson’s body hit him, the knife grazing his throat and collarbone as it slid out of the dead hand of Jackson. His legs buckled and he slid down on the floor, the dead weight of Jackson half pressing him down. Someone was screaming, but it took a while for Hathaway to work out it was him. It was only his boss’ voice giving a constant reassurance that he was fine, that he was safe, that none of the blood was his, the screaming finally subsided to little relieved sobs.

Meanwhile, after more screamed swearing, Meadows was shouting at Lewis, his hands firmly in the air.

“I’m not armed! I didn’t want it to go like this. Tell them I’m not fucking armed. I’ve got me hands up.”

Lewis turned his head to look. Meadows was still by the wall, obscured from the window. “Keep those hands up. Step forward. Now, Dave.” Meadows did as he was told, stepping into the sight of Innocent and Baker, in the window, his hands still raised. “Hands on your head and on your knees. Down. Now.”

“What do I do now?”

“Stay like that until officers come in.” Lewis took a deep breath, and putting all the pain and fear into his voice he yelled at the top of his lungs, “Clear!”

*

“Oh God oh God oh God,” Baker murmured, dropping the rifle.

“You had no choice sergeant. He was about to slit Hathaway’s throat in front of Lewis. I have no doubt what I saw. Well done sergeant.” Innocent pushed the young man to the grass. “Sit there, get your breath back. Good work. You, you and you, with me!” She pointed to the three nearest officers, two young white men and a white woman.

*

Lewis heard the officers enter the caravan, and felt it as it rocked. “At the back,” he called. “We’re clear. But master police issue handcuff keys needed, for sure.”

An officer came in, followed by a second, who both made a beeline for Meadows.

“Good job I’ve got them,” Innocent said, waving keys from her finger. She moved to Lewis to undo him. “Paramedics, now!” she snapped at the third officer, the woman. “And get him out of here,” she said at the other two, pointing at Meadows.

“Oh shit,” Lewis said, shaking and grabbing his broken wrist to cradle it. Innocent guided him by his uninjured side to the bed, although he cried out as she touched his shoulder.

“You’re too bloody old for heroics Inspector. God help me I should have you dismissed, but you did good.” As she spoke Innocent was undoing Hathaway. She could feel his sobs through his arms. “It’s over James, it’s over.”

“Two men dead, doesn’t feel like it Ma’am,” Lewis said.

“Yes, well... oh here are the medics. In here gentlemen.”

“Bloody hell Ma’am, I was beginning to think you were really ignoring me for good,” Lewis said as a paramedic looked at his arm, seeming equally concerned with his shoulders. He watched as James’ long arm reached out for the quilt on the floor and pulled it over him. “James?”

“He’ll be fine. He’s a strong young man. I’m turning my back sergeant, so if you want to pull these on,” Innocent picked up the pyjamas Standish had bought. They were covered in blood. “Perhaps not.”

“Found these Ma’am,” said the young woman at the bedroom door, holding up Hathaway’s jeans and tee shirts.

“Good work. James, get yourself dressed, eh. You’ll feel a lot safer. Is the pathologist on the way, constable? I want this wrapped up?”

“Yes Ma’am.” Innocent watched a protesting Lewis led away by the paramedics, arguing he needed to be there for James.

“Let’s clear this caravan, its a scene of crime, how much do we intend to contaminate it?” Innocent snapped. It was now just her and Hathaway. He emerged from under the duvet dressed, blood in his hair and back of his neck, looking a white as a ghost. “Come on,” she said, helping his to his feet, but as he stood up, he came close to fainting.

“Sorry Ma’am...”

“Have you had something to eat? Did they feed you?”

“I couldn’t eat today, I felt so sick with... with fear, and... oh God, I can’t believe...” He out his head in his hands to weep, but there was no more tears left. He just shook. Innocent put her arm around his shoulders.

After a while she said gently, “I have to ask, so I’m going to do it now, in private, is there any truth to what these kidnappers believed? Is Lewis your boyfriend?”

Hathaway shook his head, “No Ma’am. The Inspector is very kind to me, but he is straight, he wouldn’t want me. I don’t do boyfriends.”

“Or girlfriends, either, from what I observe. I must ask, although you will need to make a formal statement, was the threat carried out?”

Hathaway shook his head. “Very nearly Ma’am, but... but you saved me!”

Innocent sighed softly, and smiled a little, “Come on, let’s get you over to the paramedics. I think Lewis has taken the ambulance, but there’s a car, he can check you over and take you anywhere if you need treatment.”

“More than anything Ma’am, I need a bath,” Hathaway said, “And something to eat,” he amended.

*

The ambulance hadn’t left yet, in fact, had only just arrived down the track. The fire service had got in their way, putting out the blaze. The paramedic decided Hathaway needed a thorough check up and probably a visit from the shrink too, to ascertain whether he would need counselling, as he didn’t seemed to be responding well. Thus, wrapped in a space blanket, Lewis’ sergeant was shown into the same ambulance and sat in the chair next to the bed. He lowered his eyes and stared intently at the floor.

“James?” Lewis began.

“Alright!” said the paramedic and jumped back in the back and shut the door. He sat at the other chair behind the bed and banged the driver’s cab. The ambulance jerked slowly away. He waved sheets of paper. “Who’s going first?”

Lewis looked at James and sighed. His arm was in an inflatable temporary cast and, happily, his shoulders were just badly bruised and not dislocated, as the medic had feared. “Me.”

James watched out of the tiny tinted windows as untamed countryside and farm fields went past, as they bumped and jostled over the rutted track and the not much better tiny, single track lane, through three hamlets and a village before they even came onto a B-road. Then it was onto the A420 and the ambulance picked up speed. In the background the engine droned and the medic and Lewis talked – date of birth, address, rank, next of kin – Lyn Lewis – her address, additional information and how the injury occurred.

“I just was frantic. I could hear James screaming and yelling ‘no’ and I thought – I thought they were already... I just had to get free, had to save him, I just pulled like a bloody lunatic and I suppose it broke. The pipe they’d cuffed me too broke too, so maybe we’re even,” Lewis joked lamely.

“Injured in the line of duty, trying to escape after the criminal handcuffed officer to pipe,” the medic said slowly as he wrote. “Everything else, Inspector, I think, is between you and your sergeant. And how are you sergeant? Any other injuries apart from the bruises and cuts?”

James shook his head, but something about the angle of the head, the stoic poker face, made Lewis say sternly, “James, they didn’t, did they, you know, touch you?”

“Touch me Sir? How so?”

“Well, you know...”

“If you mean rape me, no, but they made it plain they were going to, for three days they...” he began to shake.

“I’m sorry Inspector, he shouldn’t have stayed at the scene but, to be honest, one of the officers should have taken him to your rape suite but I felt he’d be better off with you.”

“Okay James, stay with me. We’ll get those bruises looked at, if this man here thinks we need it, otherwise you can chose what colour they plaster me up with, eh?” He turned his head and said, aside to the medic, “Bet he’ll chose purple.”

“I was thinking red Sir!” James said in mock-affront, but then cracked. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I caused you all this – worry, trouble with Innocent.”

“Na. Away with you lad. You’re fine. You’re me sergeant and you’re me friend, too, I hope.”

“But they thought... what they thought and they kept saying it was because I look at you like... like...”

“Like you’re in love with me? Yeah, I had noticed that. You like feeling safe, so I don’t let it worry me. You flatter an old man. Like I said to them, back in there, looking means nothing. Now forget it. You’ve more important things to worry about. If you feel like telling me what they did to you, I’m here for you. I’ll take your statement if that’s easier for you, I’m sure Innocent won’t object.”

Hathaway sighed and hugged himself tightly. “Thank you Sir. For everything.” He looked across and smiled a rare, genuine smile.

“No problem. It’s what friends are for. And like Innocent said, you’re a strong young man, you’ll do fine.”

“Thank you Sir.” Hathaway went back to staring out of the windows, watching as countryside gave way to the ring road and the outskirts Botley and then the rest of city as seen from the ring road. As they crossed the Hinksey junction and skirted around he saw the city inside far in, across scrub and meadows and modern houses, the medieval city that seemed to float and rise above the meadows, like a fairy tale, and he had never been so glad to see it and he realised, that although feeling an outsider at home, at Crevecoeur, at school, at Cambridge, he felt at home here. He looked back across to his boss, but he had finally agreed to the paramedic giving pain relief and was almost asleep. Yet again his boss had risked all to save him and he felt loved and cherished – it didn’t matter what others thought, this was more than enough to do him. Forever.

**Author's Note:**

> Why such dark fics for an autistic child? Well, sometimes the Monster is real, and when he turns up and leaves little monsters running through your head sometimes it’s better for your heroes to suffer and survive and be strong than be left in the dark with the Monster in your head. Last time the Monster arrived he stayed and wouldn’t go and both plots of The Oxford Ripper were born. This time the Monster stayed 50 minutes so this is just a little fic.   
> All swearing, homophobia and sexism based on the Monster.


End file.
